


Respite

by TextualDeviance



Series: The Raven and the Dove [36]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Babysitting, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 00:43:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3708841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TextualDeviance/pseuds/TextualDeviance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baby Ivar's constant pain is further straining the already-tense relationship between Aslaug and Ragnar. Athelstan steps in to try to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Respite

Athelstan needed sleep—a lot of it, these days—but he often didn't get nearly enough. He was still healing from both torture and mental toil, and though being back in Kattegat—back with Ragnar—had done much to soothe both body and soul, he still felt significantly less healthy than he had before . . . before everything happened.

Alas, despite the herbal tisanes Elisef had given him to help him rest, he nevertheless kept waking early every morning to the pained cries of someone else entirely. As baby Ivar had grown, so, too had his natural instincts to move more. At his age, he should have been sitting up and trying to crawl, but of course, with his legs in such a condition, that was impossible. Every attempt he made at moving only brought the poor infant—and his harried parents—more pain.

Elisef and the other wise women and healers had done all they could for the child; nothing seemed to help. Privately, Athelstan continued to pray that perhaps someday, the child's pain would cease, whether by miracle or mercy.

This morning was no different than other recent ones, save one thing: The sound of Ragnar and Aslaug arguing over the baby's cries. This Athelstan found far more disturbing than even the child's wailing. He didn't want to get in the middle. He knew very well that Aslaug allowed her husband's interest in him only barely, and attempting to take sides or play mediator would likely only have made things worse. Still, there was one thing he could do.

Dressing quickly, he shuffled out into the cold and across the path to the king's living quarters. The argument had toned down, but the baby still cried. Tentatively, he knocked on the door.

"Ragnar? Aslaug?" he called.

The angry words stopped, suddenly. Then, "Come in, Athelstan," Aslaug called toward the door.

He did so. Ubbe and Hvitserk, rubbing sleep out of their eyes and chatting between themselves, attended to Sigurd in one corner, helping the toddler into his day clothes. Ragnar, his face reddened with anger, paced behind his wife. And Aslaug leaned over a table, changing Ivar's soiled swaddling clothes while he continued to wail. Athelstan was still unused to the full sight of Ivar's malformed legs, and had to force himself not to look away. As a monk, he had often been called on to bless and care for those with illnesses or disabilities; he had seen many unpleasant things in his time. Still, the sight of an infant with such a misfortune clutched at his heart in deeper, sadder ways. An adult could at least understand their condition; a child, especially one so young, knew only misery.

"I'm sorry if I am intruding," he began. "I just wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help."

As Aslaug sponged away the mess, a lock of hair fell in her eyes. She rubbed an arm across her brow, and the change in light made it clear to Athelstan exactly how exhausted she truly was. Her lovely, aristocratic features were sunken and gray, her lips pale. "I wish you could," she said grimly. "Siggy normally helps me with the children, but today she asked to spend more time with Rollo, so I am on my own."

Athelstan glanced back at Ragnar. They had plans today—and some of them involved going back to Athelstan's room to do things he very much wanted to—but it seemed he was needed elsewise. "You needn't be, if you don't wish it. I know it's been a while since I helped with your children, but surely things have not changed so much that I have forgotten how."

Stopping in the middle of fastening a clean cloth around the baby, she sighed and glanced over her shoulder.

Ragnar, his face a little dark, looked between the two. Athelstan could tell he was frustrated at the change of plans, but he nodded anyway. "Let him help, wife. There is no one else I would trust to attend to my sons."

"Even this one?" She picked up the baby, and did her best to calm him.

Ragnar looked away. Finally, he approached Ubbe. "Come, boys. Let's go to the Hall and get some food, shall we?" With a gentle shove to his son's shoulder, he steered the three older children out of the room.  

After they left, Athelstan approached her. "May I?" he reached out.

With a small sigh, she handed over the baby.

Athelstan almost laughed as he looked closely at the infant's face. All of Ragnar's sons bore his look, but this one, his features twisted in frustration, resembled him even more closely. "I see you have your father's temper," he told the child.

Aslaug laughed. It was a tired, weak sound, but a good one under the circumstances. She sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. "I have tried so many things to help him," she said, rubbing at her darkened eyes. "I simply cannot."

Athelstan tried a few things himself: Stroking the baby's cheeks and forehead, giving him a finger to suckle, gently petting his shiny curls. None seemed to do much good. "Has he had his morning feeding, yet?"

She nodded. "We had just finished that when Ragnar and I . . . well. I figure you heard that."

He smiled sadly, letting the question of the subject of their argument go unasked. "Well, as he's been fed and cleaned, all that's left is to try to entertain him and then get him to sleep, yes?" It had been a while since he had taken a few shifts minding Ubbe and Hvitserk when they were this age, but he figured the rhythms of baby care were largely the same.

"Yes," she confirmed. "I usually tell him stories and give him this" she handed over a toy, a small carved stick on which had been tied some bells and other shiny bits of metal. "It distracts him somewhat."

Athelstan dangled the toy over the child, who reached for it. "All right, then. Why don't you go back to bed? I'll take him back to my room so you can have some quiet time, at least for a little while."

She looked as if she were about to cry. "Are you certain?"

"Of course." He smiled at her. "I will bring him back when it's time for his next feeding. I'll even change him if needed." He reached for a stack of clean cloths on the table. "Sleep." Looking back at the infant, he took on a stern tone. "You, too, Ivar. Time to close your eyes." Gently bobbing the child in his arms as he headed for the door, he began singing one of his old chants, something that had occasionally helped the other children to sleep when he cared for them before. To his delight, the song seemed to work, at least somewhat. The volume and intensity of the caterwauling at least calmed to a degree.

Aslaug climbed in under the furs. "That is a Christian song, I assume?"

Athelstan hesitated at the doorway. "It is. Would you like me not to sing it to him?"

She shook her head. "No. I would like you to teach it to me someday. I love my gods, but at this point, I'm willing to ask help from yours, too."


End file.
